


The Pink One

by Tasteful_Lies



Category: DC Comics, DCEU, Suicide Squad - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Death, Kissing, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Metahumans, Quinnshot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasteful_Lies/pseuds/Tasteful_Lies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Just come back alive, okay?" & "Please, you can't die now."<br/>Post-Suicide Squad. Joker never came back for Harley, and Task Force X takes on another mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pink One

“I ponder of something great. My lungs will fill and then deflate. They fill with fire, exhale desire. I know it’s dire, my time today.” -Car Radio, Twenty One Pilots

It was the slope of his jaw. The curve of his lips. The arch of his brow. The intensity in his eyes, as if he had put up so many walls around him he couldn’t even break through. She savored his features, his voice, knowing that at any time, one or the other of them could fall. It was a battlefield. Granted, it was a battlefield that was quickly being overtaken by some kind of energy-projecting lunatic, but that only made it more of a war zone.

Harley had panicked when first being brought to this chess board, memories of her doctor’s methods of “therapy” piercing her mind and almost causing her to break down. With the electrical surges the asshole was throwing here and there, she was extremely jumpy. Yeah, it was free electroshock therapy, but she wasn’t interested at this point. Floyd, noticing her panic, had grabbed her arm and pulled her behind one of the broken down trucks, the engine fried. He had looked her in the eyes and told her she was gonna be okay, and that she needed to snap the fuck out of it before she got herself killed. He was relieved when she responded, easing back into her previous mind frame: Kill the fucker who was trying to turn New York city into Kentucky fried chicken, and get another ten years off of her sentence. It was all they wanted; freedom. And if this is what they had to do to get it, Task Force X would prove more effective than ever. Floyd nodded, mostly as a question. She mimicked the action, shrugging the soreness out of her shoulders. He didn’t move away from her, and when she looked up at him, she caught him staring. But he didn’t look away, his eyes examining her face, wanting to remember every detail, just as she had done. 

They had gone on missions together before, after the Enchantress fiasco had ended. Three missions since then, and none of them were this dangerous. Yeah, dealing with a little girl’s telekinesis had been fun, but it hadn’t been difficult. She had been scared, frightened, panicked. All things Harley could relate to, which ended up being the bridge between them. Harley had teased him, taunted him, flirted. He had responded in kind, which had been pointed out time and time again by the squad. They didn’t speak, the only sound being the electricity crackling against the concrete, and the occasional shattering of glass as the windows vibrated under the pressure. Staring up at him, Harley moved suddenly, not giving him time to react. Her lips were against his, her arms around his neck, holding him close. Sure, she’d kissed his cheek before. But this wasn’t a flirtatious kiss, her body trembling with fear she would never admit she felt. He responded almost immediately, his arm around her waist, holding her to him tightly. Neither wanted the other to die today, though both knew it was a very high possibility.

He was the one to pull away, breathing a little heavily as he rested his forehead against hers, arms still draped around her bomber jacket. Floyd was also the first one to speak.

“Doll, I’m gonna go fight.”

His voice would have amused her. He sounded like a soldier telling his sweetheart he was going to war. In a way, he was. She nodded slowly, pulling away and staring at the ground as he pulled on his mask, adjusting his eyepiece.

“Just… just come back alive, okay?”

Though she couldn’t see it, a fond smile touched his mouth. Patting her on the shoulder lightly, he slid his large machine gun from the ground, releasing a bullet to make sure it wasn’t jammed. Putting his back to her, Floyd twisted himself around the truck, releasing fire on the man. Even while he ran, every bullet would have been a headshot. Except the bullets were stopped in midair by some kind of electrical shield, body-tight. It did seem to piss the John Doe off, though. He twisted where he stood, trying to locate the shooter.

It didn’t take long. Floyd was standing on the hood of a car for a better vantage point, shooting round after round at the metahuman. A few of them moved deeper into the shield with each push. He just needed a bullet in the head, and then all of this would be over. Harley slid beneath the truck, emerging on the other side. She could see Floyd on the car, and Digger standing off to the side, near a fire hydrant, waiting for his cue. Waylon had managed to flood the street, a thin layer of water on the ground that was slowly raising higher. This was less to their advantage than they had imagined. The metahuman was standing on a traffic divider, somehow able to keep his balance on the strip of concrete. She couldn’t do anything to help but keep the attention off of the rest of her squad. Sliding her handgun out of it’s holster at her breast, Harley moved away from Floyd, nearer to Boomerang. Holding it steady, she fired shot after shot, not relenting until she ran out of bullets. 

As soon as she did, the metahuman’s attention turned back to Floyd, who was still persistently firing at him, able to see the bullet he had been pushing deeper and deeper into the protective shield was about to break through. Suddenly, a heavy wave of electricity emanated off of the man, causing the cars to vibrate. Floyd held steady, his boots planted firmly on the hood of the car. The next event happened so fast, Harley didn’t see it. Another wave of electricity was shoved off of the man’s body, sending all of the bullets in the shield flying the other direction. 

She was safe. Of course she was safe. She later regretted that.

Floyd was still standing, but his gun was limp at his side. His knees were bent, as if he were going to collapse. It took her a moment to see it. The red, sticky, metallic-smelling blood. His blood.

She made a mad dash for him, leaping onto one of the adjoining cars before she was beside him. He looked towards her, his expression a mixture of shock, anger, and regret. His hand was coated in a thin sheen of blood, the substance pooling in his palm. The wave of electricity had been strong enough to force a bullet through his armor, into his chest. Digger looked shocked, unsure of what to do. Pushing that much energy off of himself had rendered the metahuman weak and semi-defenseless. Picking up his own gun, knowing his boomerang would only get fried, he aimed, shooting for the head. The bullet connected, sending the metahuman off of the traffic divider and into the shallow water.

Harley was bent over Floyd, who had collapsed onto the hood of the car, his back against the wind-shield, which was somehow in-tact. She held his face in her hands, shouting at him to keep his eyes open. He’d never seen her cry before. He’d seen her upset, yes, but crying wasn’t something Harley shared with anyone. It was her own, private ceremony. He didn’t want it to be the last thing he saw. Reaching up with one of his bloody hands, he gently toyed with one of her pigtails. The pink one. He’d always liked the pink one better than the blue. He didn’t want to embrace the darkness, but he knew there was no way in hell Waller would be able to get a med team to him before he choked on his own blood. Harley seemed to know this as well, which was only causing more panic.

“You’re n-not gonna close your eyes, L-Lawton. If you die, I’m gonna kill y-you.”

He found himself weakly chuckling at that, and he shook his head slowly.

“P-please… you can’t die now.”

Floyd knew she was scared. He was, too. She couldn’t do anything to help, which only made the situation worse for her. Harley’s face was already becoming blurry, his mind swimming as he fought to keep himself conscious. It would have hurt so much less just to let himself close his eyes, but he wanted to keep them open. For her. For Harley.  
After the metahuman’s death had been confirmed, Amanda Waller had called in a med team, sending them to the scene. When they arrived, they found Harley cradling Floyd in her lap, rocking back and forth as she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks, her makeup smeared. She had blood on the side of her face, but of course it wasn’t hers. She had bent down to cry into his chest, not caring about her appearance. Digger watched from a distance, feeling hollow at the sight of his teammate dying.   
Floyd wasn’t breathing, and he didn’t have a pulse. His head was cradled against Harley’s shoulder, his gun having been abandoned much earlier. As the helicopter landed at the end of the block, Harley clutched his body, not wanting him to be taken from her. He was dead. 

They had won; but they had failed.


End file.
